


The Past of the Elves

by SemperAeternumQue



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Clumsiness, Crossover, Gen, Hopeful Ending, No beta we die like Kenric, Requested, Vague Timeframe, ancient scroll, bronte being helpful for once, get everyone in this some therapy, i haven't read kotlc in too long, maglor is a mysterious wanderer dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 04:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20790974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperAeternumQue/pseuds/SemperAeternumQue
Summary: When having a fun picnic in the woods with her friends, Sophie Foster encounters a mysterious stranger...with a tragic past. With the help of Bronte and her friends, she may find herself involved in a mystery that spans centuries. Prompt fill for StellaVesperis.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StellaVesperis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellaVesperis/gifts).

> Hey all! Not my usual cup of tea, but StellaVesperis requested a crossover between Keeper of the Lost Cities and the Silmarillion, and I found it fascinating! This was supposed to be a oneshot, but I have ideas for expanding it already, so who knows?
> 
> Anyhow. For Keeper of the Lost Cities fans who haven't read the Silmarillion, Maglor was a kinslayer (which means he killed other elves), the sort-of adoptive parent of Elrond Peredhel from Lord of the Rings, a poet, and general awesome dude. He wandered forever after being burned by his dad's jewel, a Silmaril, in self-imposed exile.
> 
> For Silmarillion fans who haven't read Keeper of the Lost Cities, Sophie Foster is the main character who has been adopted by Grady and Edaline Ruwen, who live in Havenfield. Keefe Secen is her friend, as are Dex, Biana, Linh, and pretty much everyone mentioned except Bronte, who is one of the ruling members of the elves and really fucking old. 
> 
> StellaVesperis, I hope you enjoy this. It's not quite what you asked for-the prompt ran away with me a little-but I hope it's alright anyways.
> 
> Right. That's that then, onto the fic!

Sophie ran through the woods near Havenfield with her friends, laughing playfully as they raced each other to the stream they were going to picnic at. It was a peaceful afternoon, despite the still-looming threat of the Neverseen. They had decided to take one day off and have fun, and Sophie couldn’t say she regretted it.

Sophie laughed as she channeled energy into her legs, sprinting ahead. She kept laughing, until she tripped over a log and fell to the ground. Thankfully, it was mossy and soft, but it still hurt and Sophie cursed her clumsiness. She cursed herself even more, once she realized she was alone. She had gone too far ahead of her friends, and now she had no idea where she was.

The forest clearing Sophie had ended up in was shady and the trees were dense and old. She was looking around frantically for her friends, getting ready to reach out with her mind, when a strange figure came through the trees.

Sophie instinctively shifted into fighting mode, ready to inflict, but the figure seemed friendly, or at least not hostile. He held up his hands in a gesture of peace as he saw Sophie’s caution. “Greetings.”

“Uh, hi,” Sophie offered.

“I promise I do not intend harm, regardless of what I may have once done,” the strange elf said. Sophie assumed that he(?) was an elf, given that he spoke the Enlightened Language, although he certainly had a strange accent. “You seem lost, may I aid you?” The other elf asked.

“Um, who the heck are you?” Sophie wanted to know. She supposed she should be used to weirdness like this by now, but surprisingly enough, she wasn’t.

“I am merely a wanderer,” The elf said. “No one of any concern.”

“Right then. I’m Sophie,” Sophie told him, trying to be polite.

He nodded. “I am pleased to meet you, Sophie. If you wish, I can show you back to your friends. I saw them pass through this forest.”

After a minute, Sophie nodded. “Okay.”

She could hardly end up any worse off than she was, unless this weird guy ended up being a part of the Neverseen. He didn’t seem like it though, so she followed him on a narrow trail through the forest. It was winding and the foliage was dense, leading her to wonder if she would ever get back to her friends.

However, soon enough, they heard voices ahead, and Sophie caught a glimpse of her friends through the trees.

“Sophie! Sophie!” Someone was shouting.

Sophie quickly stepped into the clearing. “I’m here!” She called.

“Good thing, I thought the forest ate you,” Keefe joked.

“Very funny,” Sophie told him. She turned around to thank the mystery elf that had helped her find her way back, but he was gone. “Well that’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” Dex asked.

Sophie frowned. “I met a strange elf in the woods. He helped me find you guys, but he’s gone now. I didn’t get to say thank you.”

Dex just shrugged. “Weird.”

“What did he look like?” Linh asked.

Sophie thought back to their encounter. “He was tall, I guess? He had black hair, but it looked unbrushed. He had a cloak on, but not a Neverseen one. It was old and red and patched.” She shrugged apologetically.

Linh was frowning, but Biana startled. “The Singing Wanderer!”

Everyone looked at her. “It’s a story that we were told as kids,” Biana explained. “A strange elf in a red cloak who guided the lost.”

Linh frowned more deeply, but thoughtfully. “I think…I think we met him once. Tam?”

Tam nodded. “Our first winter at Exilium. Linh caught cold, and I remember a stranger in a red cloak came and sat with us. He sang beautiful songs and gave us his food, the little bit he had. As soon as Linh was well, he left.”

“Strange,” Biana said. They pondered it a while longer, but nothing came of it and eventually they returned to having fun and hanging out in the forest.

* * *

A few days later, Sophie was still thinking of the mysterious stranger. She said as much to Keefe when he was over. “The Singing Wanderer…he seemed so alone, so old and lonely.”

Keefe laughed. “Typical Foster, worried over a stranger she barely met.”

“Curious,” Sophie corrected.

“Sure, Foster. Anyways, you know who I bet would know something about this mysterious Singing Wanderer guy? Bronte,” Keefe said. “The guy’s older than dirt, surely he knows something, right?”

Sophie nodded. “That does make sense…” She started.

“So let’s go visit!” Keefe grinned.

* * *

The next day, Sophie and Keefe sought out Bronte in his castle.

"What do you want?" Was the first thing the councilor asked when he opened the door.

"We need your help on something," Sophie said.

"Alright, get inside." He grumped.

They headed into the castle, preparing themselves for a conversation with the ancient (and grumpy) elf.

"We want to know what you know about this 'singing wanderer' guy," Keefe said. "He's this weird old dude who helps people, and we figured since you're also old-"

Sophie smacked him on the arm. "We figured," She said, "that you might know something about him."

Bronte frowned. "Who is it again?"

"The singing wanderer," Keefe said.

"Nothing more than a bedtime story for children," Bronte grumped, but he seemed shifty.

"No, he's not," Sophie said. "I met him. He helped me find my way back to my friends the other day. We were wondering if you knew anything about him." Bronte frowned again, as if he was remembering something.

_A young Bronte runs through the woods, light and free, laughing as he races ahead of his parents. The woods are dense and dark, and he has a hard time finding his way. _

_He runs too fast, trips, and falls down a hillside, crying out as he does. At the bottom, the young elf lays, holding his ankle, quietly crying. _

_The figure walks quietly out of the woods, seeing the young elf. "Oh dear, little one," The red-cloaked figure says. _

_Young Bronte glares at him. "You're not my parents!" _

_"Ai, you are lost from them, little one." The wanderer begins to sing, a song of healing and peace, and Bronte slowly drifts into sleep. _

_The wanderer picks him up and meanders away through the woods until he reaches an older, concerned-looking elf lady who must be Bronte's mother. _

_"Is this your little one?" He asks. _

_"Yes indeed! Where did you find him?" The mother asks. _

_"He had fallen down a hillside, my lady," the wanderer reports. "I figured I should find his guardian, as he is awful young to be out here alone." _

_The lady smiles gratefully. "Thank you. I will be in your debt." The wanderer bows, and leaves as quickly as he came, humming a tune to himself._

"So you met him too!" Sophie exclaims.

"Indeed, when I was very young," Bronte says. "I have researched long and hard, and I believe I know who he may be.”

He settled down more firmly in his chair, his voice lending an air of mystery to his speech.

“You see, before there were dwarves, there were the khazdul, the dwarven race of old. Before there were ogres, there were orcs. Before there were gnomes, there were hobbits. Before there were humans, there were edain. Before there were trolls, there were the cave-trolls of old. And before there were elves, there were the Eldar, the ancient race of elves who used to dominate this planet.

I myself am not nearly old enough to remember them myself, but I am old enough to remember when their history was still taught, and I learned it well. They were mystic and powerful, with songcraft and healing. They dominated the world once, a very, very long time ago.

As the years went on, their power waned and many left over the sea, but a small group was left. That group became the elves as we know them today, yet none of them are left to tell of it. Many have died, as the world once was far more dangerous than it is today. None are left, save one. Legends speak of a wanderer by the ocean, a voice in the wind, singing laments for a lost history. Some have even met him. He helps those in need, and disappears once they have not need of his aid.”

The younger two elves sat entranced for a few long moments.

“Whoa,” Keefe breathed, and the spell was broken. “That’s pretty crazy.”

Sophie nodded. “I didn’t know you could tell stories like that!” She exclaimed.

Sophie swore she saw Bronte’s ears turn red. “Oh humph. It’s not like storytelling is of any use in this day and age anyhow,” he grumped at them.

Keefe frowned. “There’s something else that you’re not telling us,” He said.

Bronte grumbled something else about youngsters these days and their disrespect, but turned to a drawer and pulled out an ancient scroll. It looked older than the ones Dex had found with the Twiggler.

“This is a scroll passed down through my family, the last of it’s kind. It’s an ancient language few can read, but you, Miss Foster, should have no trouble.”

Sophie peered at the scroll, which read this:

_To whomever may be reading this, someday far in the future, I am an elf by the name of Elrond Halfelven, and I implore you to keep reading. _

_My father, or the closest thing I had to one, has long been lost. I know he still wanders the shores, but none have been able to find him. I am sailing soon, leaving Middle Earth and my last chance to find him. He will never sail to Valinor, and so I fear we will be forever sundered. Yet please, kind stranger, if you are reading this, I beg you to look for him. _

_He is a tall elf with raven-black hair like his infamous father Feanor and grey eyes like myself. He wears a cloak of red, and sings more beautifully than anyone you will have ever heard. His full and true name is Makalaure Kanafinwe Feanorion, but he is more likely to answer to Maglor, or take on another name, for the names Maglor and Makalaure are associated with much death and horror. His hands have dreadful scars, or likely will, from a magical artifact called a Silmaril. _

_If you do find him, he will try to tell you that he is a terrible person, irredeemable, and a murderer. Only one of these is true. He was bound to kill by a dreadful oath, which hopefully has waned with the burn of the Silmaril or has been broken by how he cast it away into the deepest sea. Despite his deeds, he is truly kind and one of the two elves who took me and raised me, regardless of their feud with my biological parents. _

_I will not ask you to force him to sail-I am not sure if anyone can do that now-but I do ask that you pass on this message to him. _

_Tell him that his son, Elrond Maedhrosion or Elrond Peredhel, misses him dearly and has long since forgiven him of any wrongs. Tell him I do not hate him, and never have. Not since the day he plucked me from blood and fire, and brought my brother and I to safety. _

_Tell him…ai, there are no words in this language or any other to say what needs to be said, but tell him that I wish him the best in any path he may choose, and that should he choose to finally sail, I will be here waiting for him be it in ten years or ten thousand. _

_Tell him he was one of the best fathers I ever knew, him and his brother, and I miss them both as dearly as I miss my brother Elros. _

_I do not know if you will be able to find him-my foresight does not extend that far-but I implore you to try._

_Signed,_

_Elrond Maedhrosion_

Sophie looked up to find the other two staring at her.

“Uh, Foster?” Keefe said. “You look like you’re about to either murder someone or cry.”

Sophie realized that she did indeed feel both fragile and determined. “This letter…it’s from someone searching for his father. It’s a letter.”

She read it aloud for the others.

“Oh. Wow.” Keefe said. “Well, that’s a lot.”

Bronte just frowned, as he always did. “I did not realize…all these years, it was someone searching for their parent, or rather asking us to search for them.”

Sophie and Keefe looked at each other.

“Well, I think that’s our cue,” Keefe said. “Based on Foster’s expression, I’m guessing we have an elf to find.”

Bronte nodded sharply. “Keep the scroll. It’s of no use to my family anyways.”

The duo made their way out, and Keefe glanced at Sophie again. “Don’t tell me-“

“We’re finding him, Keefe. This elf, whoever wrote this scroll, is the wanderer’s _son_. It’s our moral obligation to at least attempt to pass on the message.”

Keefe grinned. “Now that’s the Foster I know!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophie and her friends decide to track down a very old elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, months and many headcanon changes later, I'm back with another chapter! Woo! Sorry about the delay, it's been a long time since I was inspired on this fic but I'm back with a vengance! And I have a third chapter planned, if nothing beyond that.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: brief death, kidnapping, violence, and blood mentions.
> 
> For kotlc fans who don't know the Silmarillion: Maglor Feanorion is the son of Feanor, an infamous elf who swore an oath to retrieve his lost gems at any cost. Maglor and his six brothers fought many other elves along the way, earning them the title of kinslayers. However, he and his eldest brother, Maedhros, also raised Elrond Peredhel and his brother Elros, sons of one of their enemies. Atto is a Quenya word for father, and Quenya is the language of the high-elves.
> 
> For Silmarillion fans who don't know kotlc: telepath is exactly what it seems like: people who can read minds. Sophie is special because she can track thoughts to where the person is.

Another two days later, and the whole group was meeting up in Sophie’s room at Havenfield. 

“Right. We have to find this Singing Wanderer. It’s the only right thing to do,” Sophie insisted. Biana and the rest nodded along. 

“He could be dangerous,” Tam said. 

“Please. He helps people, expects no credit, and has been wandering for thousands of years. He’s fine,” Dex interrupted. 

“I agree with Dex,” Sophie said before anyone could start arguing. “He seems harmless, and we have to at least try and help him, right?” 

Everyone else nodded. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Linh asked. 

“That’s where I was hoping you guys could help,” Sophie admitted. 

“Well, we saw him in this area only a few days ago,” Fitz said logically. “He can’t have gotten too far, he didn’t have a light-leaping device. If we can narrow down his location a bit better, Sophie can track him.” 

“I don’t know-“

“Please, Foster, you’re great at this,” Keefe said. “I bet you’ll be able to find him.” 

“Yeah, you’ve got this!” Biana agreed. 

Sophie sighed and conceded. “Okay, so how are we going to narrow down his location?”

“I know!” Biana cried triumphantly. “We go back to the clearing where we were picnicking, we know he was there, right? And then Sandor can pick up his trail and we can get close enough for Sophie to track him down.”

So, the very next day, the group was assembled at Havenfield, ready to track down an ancient elf. Edaline insisted on sending them off with plenty of custard busts and other treats, and Sandor insisted that everyone have a tracker on them and several goblin throwing stars. To all of their surprise, Oralie and Bronte were there as well.

“I want to know if you do find him,” Bronte told them. “There are not very many people in this world who are older than I am, and I’m always curious about them.”

“And I just came to see you off,” Oralie said. She insisted on fixing Sophie’s cloak twice, and fussing with everyone else’s cloaks too, much to the kids’ frustration. But after all the adults had finally finished fussing, they set off into the woods.

Many, many hours later, they were getting somewhat discouraged as Sandor continued to sniff out a faint trail. 

“Are we ever going to find this guy?” Keefe questioned, brushing some leaves out of his hair. “All I’m saying is, at least he could have the decency to take a proper path instead of just bushwhacking.”

Fitz and Biana both nodded as Sophie stretched out her mind. In the immediate vicinity, she could feel her friends’ minds, and Sandor’s goblin mind, both of which she tuned out. Stretching a little further, she brushed up against a mind that felt different. The closest mind Sophie had ever felt to it was Bronte’s, but even his mind didn’t compare to how impossibly ancient this mind felt. It felt elven, yes, but not elven like any of the minds she had felt before. It was something more. Even a brush left her shuddering at the sheer strength of that mind.

“Sophie, are you alright?” Linh’s voice asked. “You went all spacey on us.”

Sophie quickly snapped back to herself. “I’m okay! I was just checking for minds, and I think I found him. I found a mind unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s that way.”

Her friends let her take the lead again as she followed the mind. That was made much more difficult by the fact that she could hardly stand to touch it for long, as the memories waiting below the surface were not kind or happy ones. She caught glimpses and flashes of war, death, blood, and pain. Always pain. Whoever the Singing Wanderer was, he had not led a happy life. His mind was exhausting to touch, old and strong and filled with pain as it was, but Sophie persevered until they were drawing close to a clearing in which there was a little camp.

‘Camp’ might have been a generous word to use, as there was no tent or even a sleeping bag (not that Sophie would expect an ancient wanderer to have a modern sleeping bag), but there were the remains of a fire, as well as a pack sitting on the ground, which Sophie assumed belonged to the elf sitting by aforementioned remains of a fire. He was definitely the elf they were searching for, which Sophie could tell not only from his ancient mind but also from his familiar battered appearance. He wore the same red cloak as the last time Sophie had seen him, patched a hundred times over but with the star in the center still visible. His hair was no less messy, and certainly no shorter, and every part of him seemed worn by countless years. 

“Hi,” Sophie said.

The Singing Wanderer whirled around to face her, hands going to a small dagger on his belt. “Greetings?” He said slowly and painfully in the Enlightened Language.

“Er, hey. We’re not going to hurt you,” Sophie tried. 

It seemed to take a minute for him to understand, but he sheathed his knife. “I am sorry. You are…you are-“

“Young?”

He shook his head. 

“The person you met like, a week ago?”

He nodded thoughtfully. It was clear that his grasp of the Enlightened Language was not very good (or, at the very least, outdated), so Sophie made a concentrated effort to switch to the language the scroll that Bronte had showed them had been written in. “I speak your language.”

His mouth fell open. “How is this possible? I have not met another speaker of Quenya for many thousands of years, and your accent is flawless, my lady.”

“I’m not a lady,” Sophie protested. “And I’m a Polygot.”

“What is a Polygot?”

“It’s like, an ability? Where you can speak all different languages instinctively.”

The wanderer nodded. “That makes sense, but I do not know why you have sought me out, my lady. Most with sense stay far away, even nowadays.”

Sophie sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy to explain. “Well, first, can you not with the ‘lady’? My name is Sophie, and I don’t have any titles. And second, what’s your name?”

He bowed. “Maglor Feanorion, at your service.”

“I didn’t understand any of that, but Maglor is the guy we’re looking for, right?” Biana asked.

Sophie nodded. “Yep. Maglor Feanorion is the guy mentioned in the letter, and this is definitely the guy I met about a week ago.”

She turned back to Maglor, switching back to the ancient language he had called ‘Quenya’. “After you helped me that day in the forest, we sought out the advice of this guy called Bronte, who’s older than dirt, anyways, and he had this letter from a guy called Elrond.”

Instantly, Maglor stiffed. “Elrond? Elrond Half-elven? Is he alright? I thought he had sailed a long time ago!”

“Yeah apparently he’s in a place called Valinor now? But he left a letter asking whoever found it to go looking for his father, an elf called Maglor Feanorion.”

Maglor sat with a thump. “Elrond…my little star. He was always too kind for his own good…”

Sophie just handed him the letter. She watched him read through, saw his face crumple as he reached the end. “Oh my little star…you cared too much, you always have. I am nothing more than a murderer.”

“Not true,” Sophie protested. “You helped me in the forest, the other day. And Elrond, whoever he is, believed you were a truly good person.”

Maglor shook his head. “I am not…I have...”

“You can show me,” Sophie suggested. “I’m a telepath. I can search your memories.”

He nodded in agreement, and Sophie touched her fingers to his temple. His mind was hard to enter, ancient as it was, but she could feel barriers give way before her as Maglor allowed her further in. It wasn’t long before she touched the first of the memories, and watched in horror as her- no, Maglor’s - father swore a dreadful oath before all, and felt as Maglor and his brothers did the same. She watched the blood on the quays of Alqualonde and the white swan ships they stole, saw as those ships were burned before her eyes. She felt Maglor’s horror as a lone orc messenger came to tell them that Maglor’s eldest brother was captured by Morgoth, and the horror that was double that as Fingon returned with Maedhros’ limp body, hurt and scarred almost beyond recognition. Sophie saw the fear in the eyes of the elves of Doriath as the kinslayers took over their city, the terror that took the elves of Sirion and prompted Elwing to throw herself off a cliff, turning into a bird as she fell. 

Maglor tried to pull away there, but Sophie held on. She watched as Maglor and Maedhros took the crying children (Elrond and Elros, Maglor’s mind supplied) from the ruins, held them and raised them. She felt Maglor’s love for them both, and his regret as the Feanorions left the twins with Gil-galad, their older cousin. She saw how Maglor wished so desperately to go to them, but stayed away (to keep them safe, Maglor’s mind whispered). She felt the pain of Elros’ death and Elrond sailing. 

The thousands of years of wandering held few memories of consequence, but she was able to see as Maglor watched the elven race evolve and change, forgetting him as surely as they forgot their long and bloody history. She saw the hundreds, no, thousands, of travelers and elves that Maglor had helped, including a young Bronte. She saw the creatures he sang to, heard the laments he cried to the wind, watched him crumple in grief for all he had lost, the sorrow all-consuming, drowning her, pulling her under-

Sophie pulled her hand back from Maglor’s head, swayed, and collapsed to the ground. Instantly, her friends crowded around her.

“Sophie! Sophie! Are you okay?” Biana asked.

“I’m alright, his mind is just….intense. He’s been through a lot,” Sophie told them. She switched back into Quenya to reassure Maglor, who looked concerned. “Your mind is just more intense than other minds I’ve seen.”

“I have shown you my crimes, why do you not run from me?” He questioned.

Sophie had to think about it for a minute. Maglor was definitely a murderer, that was true, but it had been thousands of years since he killed anything but an orc, and Sophie could see from his memories that he was a legitimately kind person. 

“Because…you may have done terrible things, but I think you’re still a kind person at heart.”

Maglor stood in silence for a long moment before he nodded once, softly. “I think…I think I want to see my son again. I think I want to go home.”

With Maglor’s help, it took them a much shorter time to get home than it had taken them to get to him. He apparently knew his way around quite well, and so it was only two (relatively) short hours before they were safely back at Havenfield. They were, of course, met by concerned adults.

“You’ve been gone for much longer than you said you would,” Grady frowned.

Sophie just sighed, used to overprotective adults by this point. “It took us longer to get through the forest than we thought it would. But, look who we found!” She gestured to Maglor, and everyone did a double take.

Unsurprisingly, Edaline snapped out of her shock first. “Come inside, all of you, you must be tired. Sophie, you need a shower. I’ll make mallowmelt.”

“Yeah Foster…getting a little dirt-smudged there,” Keefe commented. 

Sophie glared at him. “It’s not like you don’t need a bath!”

“All of you need a bath,” Bronte interrupted. “And to fix up those scrapes.”

“Chill, Councillor Grumpypants,” Keefe laughed. “We’re fine.”

“Since when did you worry about us anyways?” Sophie asked.

Bronte just glared at all of them. “Other people don’t worry enough, I have to pick up the slack.”

Keefe snickered, and Sophie figured she should probably drag him inside before he could get himself in trouble. The kids took turns getting clean and then applying some salves to their varying bruises and scrapes. By the time they were all ready, mallowmelt was done, and they found the adults sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly. Or, well, Oralie, Grady, and Edaline talking were quietly, while Bronte seemed to be questioning Maglor about elven history, as far as they could tell. 

“Hello, boring adults,” Keefe greeted, sliding into a seat. Sophie could see her mission of preventing him from being killed today was going to be unsuccessful. 

Especially given the looks on Grady and Bronte’s faces. 

“What he’s trying to say is ‘hey guys’,” Sophie tried.

“Not to worry, we’re not going to murder him,” Bronte said dryly. “I’d rather ask Maglor more questions. He’s more interesting than you lot, at any rate.” 

Maglor didn’t seem to understand precisely what was going on, but he smiled faintly at that. “You are very…curious, young one.”

The entire table collectively burst out laughing at Bronte being called young. Even Sophie’s parents had a hard time stifling their laughter.

Maglor stared around in confusion. “What…did I- I-“

“Say,” Bronte supplied. “I am known for being very old, so you calling me ‘young one’ amused this group.”

Maglor nodded. “You are very…young to me.”

How old _was_ this guy?

The group settled down after a few minutes, returning to their conversations, and after some debate it was finally decided that Maglor would be staying at Havenfield. Several of the gnomes had volunteered to help him build a boat so he could finally sail to Valinor, and Sophie was one of the only people who spoke any Quenya, or any other ancient elven language for that matter. And so Maglor Feanorion, also known as Makalaure Kanafinwe, the Singing Wanderer, and to one no-longer-young elf, Atto, came to stay at Havenfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, and if you want to come yell at me on Tumblr, feel free to do so on my Silm/main blog, semperaeternumque, or my kotlc blog, bronte-deserves-better.


End file.
